


The Five Lions

by a_different_kind_of_trash, Sydfromspace



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst, Drug Abuse, Drug Warning, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Five Lions AU, Fluff, Friendship, Galra Keith (Voltron), Gangs, Keith and Shiro are Adoptive Siblings, Keith is an orphan basically, Loss, M/M, Matt gets addicted, Memory Loss, Minor Hunk/Shay (Voltron), Other, Past Shiro/Matt, Possible Character Death, Some Cursing, They/Them for Pidge, Torture, Violence Warning, dads of marmora, eventual Klance, galra - Freeform, high schooler Pidge, mechanic Coran, past Miro, police chief Allura, present Shallura
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-25 21:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9845714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_different_kind_of_trash/pseuds/a_different_kind_of_trash, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sydfromspace/pseuds/Sydfromspace
Summary: “Do you really need to pick fights with everyone?” Shiro asked in a low voice.Keith grimaced, messing with his shirt. “Never too early to start your criminal track record.”In a city run by the Galra gang, police chief Allura Altea tries to revive the corrupted police force. Without help, all order is doomed to fall. So when five very different, very unique people step up to the challenge of protecting their home, everyone is willing to try something new. Which may or may not involve fighting crime. Alternatively titled The Five Lions, Their Mom, and That One Crazy Uncle.





	1. Chapter 1

In the dark hours of the morning, everything is quiet. Birds break silence with tentative songs, growing ever more sure of themselves. The sun peaked over on hilltops. Dancing, dipping flowers make themselves known. To some, this time is enjoyable and do their best work in these moments.

 

And seventeen-year-old Pidge Holt was passed out in their bed, snoring up a storm. The teen’s glasses were skewed atop their nose at an awkward angle. A hefty book, open about three quarters of the way, lay a few inches away from their head. Pidge was dressed in yesterday's clothes and had one shoe on, all while they drooled slightly.

 

Six forty-five, and their alarm had  began to blare loudly. Pidge groaned, rolling out of bed with a dull thud. They smacked blindly around for their alarm clock. As soon as the shrill ringing had stopped, they stood. Brushing a messy fluff of light brown hair out of their eyes, they readjusted their glasses.

 

“...Ugh…” mumbled the junior intelligibly, wiping their eyes.

 

They pulled on the first clean outfit they found and shambled downstairs with their books. They hugged their mother, who was at the table, aimlessly shuffling through a folder full of papers. 

 

“Those taxes, or somethin’?” Pidge asked, sitting down across from their mother. She nodded wearily.

 

“I try to do them, but they just keep piling up..” She said it sadly, with an almost wistful tone to her voice.

 

Pidge sighed. “I’ll take a look at them when I get home, alright?” Their mother nodded. “I’m late to school, though. Love you, Mom. Gotta go.” They got up and kissed her on the cheek, stuffing their books into a worn green backpack. 

 

Shoes and coat slipped on, Pidge shouldered their backpack. The small teen walked out the door.

 

“Another day, huh?” They asked themselves as they walked along the sidewalk to get to their high school. The wind slapped their face, but Pidge didn’t mind. There were better things to worry about. 

 

“I guess it could be worse,” they whispered as they sat through math class, pretending to take notes even though they already knew the curriculum.

 

“Maybe, Zarkon could be wreaking havoc on the city,” fantasized the genius as they doodled in their math textbook. The picture was of an angry-looking man surrounded by cats. One of the cats had glasses. 

 

“What was that, Holt?” The math teacher asked sternly, peering over her stereotypical teacher spectacles at the daydreaming Pidge.

 

“Nothing, ma’am,” they chimed automatically. The teacher only sniffed and turned back to the chalkboard, teaching something Pidge was pretty sure they’d learned in eighth grade.

 

The rest of the school day passed as routinely as always; Pidge aces a history test, Pidge reads through study hall, Pidge sits utterly alone at lunch.. the usual, since their only friends left school.

 

Finally, the school day ended. They raced home, the only thing they had done with enthusiasm the entire day. Throwing their backpack somewhere in the living room, they ran through the kitchen.

 

Pidge threw open the garage door. This was their only free space; no nagging, sad mother, no passed-out older brother smelling like he was homeless, no distractions. The only bright side of essentially living in a cold, cramped room was the computer, which they had built themselves.

 

Pidge and their friend, Hunk, were excellent engineers. Well, Hunk was astonishing, but Pidge’s skill was still quite close. They had been hired by Coran Altea, who owned a small shop called Altea Auto. The two of them had quickly gotten close with the redhead mechanic.

 

Shockingly, Coran’s niece, Allura, happened to be part of an elite police task force. Except it didn't have any members, and Allura seemed a little desperate for help. Pidge couldn't blame her; the police seemed slow and corrupt. 

Allura turned out to be a relaxed young woman, despite having such an  _ exciting  _ uncle. Coran was a bit of a handful. He loved telling stories and giving advice. 

 

Lance was another friend. He hung around the Auto Shop when he was free from work and family. Lance had an amazingly large family, most still in Cuba. The McClains were extremely kind to Hunk and Pidge.

 

Pidge booted up their computer. The screen flicked on, garage illuminated in green light. They hummed, typing away.

 

Pidge looked over their shoulder when they heard a bang. It sounded like a door. 

 

_ Matt _ . It had to be, their mother was never loud. Sometimes Pidge wished she was loud. They wished their mother would scream at Matt for taking drugs; To yell at Pidge for leaving dishes out overnight again. 

 

Moments later the garage door flew open. Their brother stood in the doorway, staring them down.

 

Pidge wished they were loud too. They wanted to yell at Matt for coming in here. He smelled like mud and grease  _ and drugs _ . It was unbearable and Pidge just wanted to  _ scream _ .

 

“Matt.” They said it quietly, but with venom. “Get out.”

 

Their brother looked confused, and almost a little sad. Nevertheless, he dutifully shuffled out. Pidge thought he'd gotten lost in their house; Matt never came into the garage anymore. Not since… well. Not since.

 

As soon as the tech whiz heard their brother slam the door, Pidge relaxed. The tension melted from their body. They stared straight ahead, willing themselves not to cry. Come on, Pidge. Stay strong.

 

Pidge used to cry themselves to sleep thinking about Matt. They had once been such close siblings. So when that connection was shattered, so was Pidge, for a while. They moped around and skipped school a lot. Their mother, still devastated by the recent loss of Pidge’s father, stayed in her room all day and didn't stop either of her children. Matt was a disaster.

 

Since then, conditions had much improved in the Holt household. Pidge had discovered online gambling, and was now making enough to support their family. Their mother had gotten out of bed and was now functioning (sort of) again. As for Matt… well, since Shiro had disappeared, he had never been the same.

Pidge couldn't figure out if they hated their older brother or not. Once, they had practically worshipped him. Now, though, things were much different. Since Matt had turned to drugs, Pidge was always so angry at him. They had progressed from irrational yelling to cold, stony rage.

 

They shook their head, refusing to think about their fucked-up brother.  _ Not my fault that he did this _ , they tried to tell themself. But deep down inside, they still loved Matt. Deep down inside, they ached for him every day.

 

They decided to call Lance and Hunk, who had said they were at the library. After deciding that Hunk was more likely to pick up the phone, Pidge anxiously dialed in their best friend’s number.

“Heeeello, it's Hunk here,” came the friendly voice.

 

“Hunk, hi!”

“HEY PIDGE!” Lance practically shrieked into the phone. Pidge winced. There were sounds of a scuffle, and then Hunk came on again. “How are you holding up?” Inquired the older boy.

 

Pidge sighed. “I really need some time at the shop,” they confessed. “Not, exactly a good day here in Pidge Land.” They heard Hunk chuckle.

 

“Sure thing, Pigeon.” Pidge bristled at the endearing nickname. “How bout we go as soon as I've checked out this book and Lance has some books he'll actually read?”

 

“I have been reading!”

 

“Yeah, Lance, I call bullshit. See ya there, Pidge!”  _ Click _ .

 

\---------

 

Shiro looked over at Keith, who was sprawled out on his couch. He tried not to worry when Keith came home like this, especially since he saved Shiro from the Galra gang. Keith had a white scar across his cheek from it. It was extraordinary that the scrap of a boy he knew would be fighting against evil.

 

_ I drove him to it. _ Shiro couldn't shake the thought he'd be the one to blame if anything happened to Keith.  He could see his black mop of hair from the table. The window behind Shiro lit the room, Keith’s apartment. Shiro was hesitant to involve his young friend in this.

 

Whatever the Galra did to him, Shiro thought he was lucky not to remember. But with Keith passed out on his couch, probably working all night to stop a few gang members, he wished he'd had something to help.

 

Shiro stirred his coffee absently, lost in thought. His new arm worked perfectly. It was made of a smooth grey metal that reflect sunlight. Keith’s apartment light was mostly sun. The windows had grey curtains draped unceremoniously. Everything here was grey. Maybe it was just him.

 

Keith shifted in his sleep, turning to face Shiro. The couch was against the wall, facing the windows and table. 

 

Shiro frowned at Keith's marked face. Dry blood ran now his chin from his mouth. Part of him was worried. Keith didn't get hurt often. He was naturally skilled at knife throwing. Keith could fight his way out of most situations.

 

_ Keith paused, looking up at Shiro. The older boy just frowned, pressing the ice pack on Keith's eye gently. _

 

_ “Do you really need to pick fights with everyone?” Shiro asked in a low voice. _

 

_ Keith grimaced, messing with his shirt. “Never too early to start your criminal track record.” _

 

_ Shiro smiled, brushing Keith’s hair out of his eyes. It was short, barely reaching his neck. Keith hummed in disapproval as Shiro checked the soft bandaged spot on his arm. He winced at Shiro’s touch, warm on the bruise. _

 

Shiro walked across the room and knelt beside Keith. He wouldn't be awake when Shiro left. They were running low on food anyway. May as well start there.

_ Back to normal… _


	2. Chapter 2

“Shiro…” Keith sighed. His adoptive brother touched his shoulder with a gentle, comforting hand. Keith hated it. He should be the one giving comfort, not vice versa.

 

“You don't need to go out there alone.” Shiro said softly. His brow was furrowed. His signature older-brother I’m-worried-for-you look.

 

Keith shook his head. He didn't want his friend, who was still recovering, to go out there with him. _What if you get captured again? What will I do if I can't save you?_

 

Shiro leaned against Keith’s shoulder, tugging at his hood. His gaze was soft, yet solemn and unflinching. Keith winced under the older’s look.

 

“I'm…. I'm scared,” he admitted finally. “I can't lose you. What if they-”

 

Shiro shook his head. “Keith, please. I can take care of myself.” He poked his adopted younger brother’s cheek, grinning. Keith swatted him away.

 

“I’m being serious. Even if you could handle a ton of Galra, how are you going to go out there without a disguise?” Keith said, raising his eyebrow.

 

Shiro shrugged, trying to be nonchalant to ease Keith’s worries. He ran his hand through his tuft of white hair. _When did he even get that_? He felt like an old man. He gave his best pleasing look and waited.

 

Keith looked down and sighed.

 

“Get a hoodie.”

 

“Is that your answer to everything?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

\-----------------

 

Lance looked over at Pidge. They looked half asleep, and hadn't bothered to clean the grease marks off their glasses yet. Regular people wouldn't wear glasses when working in an auto shop, but Pidge was essentially blind without them. Of course, now, they couldn’t see through the black streaks anyway.

 

Hunk looked no better. He was swaying where he stood, sipping coffee every other moment in a futile effort to stay awake.

 

“What's got you two so dead today?” Lance frowned, equal parts confused and concerned.

 

Pidge turned to him slowly, as if they had trouble registering what he had said. “L-late night at Coran’s…” They leaned against Hunk, who whined, having a hard time keeping himself up.

 

“Guys,” Lance groaned, “I work at a coffee shop. I get asleep customers that look like they want to kill me. This was more than _a late night_.” Lance shook his head. He watched Pidge straighten up, only to walk straight into a potted plant.

 

They were downtown, picking up Lance from work. The streets were fairly empty in these parts. The Galra gang had been seen around the area more and more often as of late.

 

 _Too bad; I need money,_ Lance thought. He was trying to save up so he could go to college.  The Cuban boy planned to major in Astronomy. Hunk and him were out of school. Pidge was still in 11th grade.

 

Hunk sighed and held out his coffee for Pidge. They accepted it quickly, closing their eyes while gripping Hunk’s shirt.

 

Lance smiled and turned the corner. The street was a colorful array of browns, oranges, and blues. Neon lights hung from bars. Pink bakery lights flooded the street. The air was thick with the smell of leaves from the trees that were planted beside sidewalks. Stars shone down as the moon rose.

 

Lance, unfortunately, got off late today. None of them were pleased with walking on their normal route, the fastest way home, on this street. Galra had been hanging around before, but the sightings were pretty recent.

 

Just as Lance thought they'd made it to a safe part of the city without a hitch, Pidge grabbed his sleeve.

 

Someone strolled across the street in front of them. They shouldered a bag, casting looks to and fro. Their walk was too brisk to be a civilian.

 

“Hey.” Pidge said weakly, pointing towards the shop the man entered. “I think that was…” They didn't finish. All of them knew what Pidge was going to say. _Galra._

 

Lance winced, “Guys, don't do anything stupid.” He warned.

 

Hunk smiled nervously. “What? I wasn't thinking of doing anything stupid. Were you guys? Cause I totally wasn't…” He trailed off. In their minds, they all knew what they were going to do.

 

Before they could act, a small shop down the street exploded with an impressively loud sound. Fire rained down on the sidewalk. It looked to have been a small bomb; most of the stores, not including the one the bomb was in, were fine.

 

Heat soaked in Lance’s skin. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Burning debris was littered in the street. The air felt hot, almost unbearably so.

 

Pidge was the first to react, running desperately towards the flames, shouting for help. Hunk and Lance barely shared a look before they ran too, dodging debris as they went.

 

People could be heard screaming. There weren't many. In the ruined shop, scorch marks ran along the wall. A couple scared artists were cowering in the corner, fire licking up their displays hungrily.

 

Pidge looked over their shoulder to see if the police were coming. Their glasses reflected the fire, hiding their worried eyes. Hunk struggled towards the group of huddled people, trying not to look at the roaring fire coming their way.

 

Someone pushed past Lance and sprinted by Pidge. They yelped, almost toppling over onto a burning display. Lance caught them and looked towards the person.

 

The man was now weaving nimbly through the flames and making his way towards the others. His jacket, a striking red, was glowing in the firelight. Lance was reminded how close the fire was. It was dying down now, throwing sparks towards them. The blackened walls looked suffocating. The air was thick with smoke. He met the stranger’s eyes.

 

“Go.” Someone ordered. Lance spun around to see another man, one they hadn't even noticed entering the burning building. His face was hidden under a purple hood. His dark eyes, the only feature that was recognizable, flitted to Hunk.

 

“Run, _now_.”

 

Pidge looked up Lance, eyes wide. “We have to help.” They coughed out. Their brown hair was matted with soot, face still covered, along with ash, in grease. They coughed again.

 

“Hunk!” Lance shouted, waving towards the door and then pointing to Pidge. He must have understood, because he came towards them.

 

Hunk grabbed Pidge and began to haul them towards the door. “Let me help!” They shrieked. “ _Let me go!_ ”

 

The man beside Lance shook his head and turned to go to his friend. He went to push further through the debris, but caught Pidge’s eye as he was going. Pidge gasped in recognition. Lance was too busy trying not to inhale smoke or get burnt to a crisp to notice his friend's distress.

 

Pidge shouted something that was muffled as another pipe burst.

 

The man turned away, visibly shaken, and pressed on. He lifted a burning table with one arm and pushed it away. It was an almost effortless move.

 

The one in the red hood was coming back towards them. He seemed to be helping a group of frightened people through the debris. He glanced back at his friend, who had another group carefully picking their way through the wreckage.

 

Lance shook his head, refusing to leave the building when others were in danger. The red-hooded hero shouted at the group to _go, get out_ , and they gladly obeyed. Lance turned to watch them go, praying they would get out safe.

 

Something pressed him forward. He glanced back to see the boy who got the people away from the falling wall and  flames. He was being pushed by the stranger, struggling, when the other’s hood fell. With a shock, Lance realized that it was a boy his age, with a soft, pale face and round grey eyes.

 

And he was still shoving the startled brunette towards the exit.

 

Lance gave in and darted towards the hole where the door had stood, not without dragging the boy behind him.

 

Both were hit with a wave of cool night air. It stung the Cuban boy’s lungs. He looked over his shoulder as his mysterious new friend rushed past to the alleyway.

 

“Lance!” He was met with a crushing bear hug from none other than Hunk, looking tired but safe. “We were worried!” He led Lance away to the other side of the street. Lance stared at him before a brutal coughing fit racked his body.

 

“Get him some water!” He heard Pidge order, a tone of misery he couldn't quite place in their voice. Darkness swirled in his gaze. Lance didn't even realize he was falling. Within seconds, he had dropped.

 

\-----------------

 

Keith leaned against the wall, arms crossed almost angrily. Shiro wiped his face with a rag, looking worried.

 

They had managed to get away before the police came. Both considered this a fortunate circumstance; Keith didn't need to draw any more attention to himself.

 

“Keith.” Shiro smiled, shaking his friend out of deep thought. “You saved them.” He rested a hand on the younger’s shoulder.

 

“The explosion should have done something worse.” Keith sighed, sounding distressed. “Everyone but the bomber lived.”

 

Shiro shook his head. “That's a _good_ thing.” He sounded like he was reminding himself instead. “Keith, we saved them.”

 

“We had _help_.”

 

Keith turned away from Shiro. He touched his face, soot clinging to his hair. His red sweatshirt needed to be washed. It was now covered under a layer of black.

 

Shiro had found some his things, which Keith _might_ have stolen when he went missing. It was a dark purple hoodie with three quarter sleeves. _“It'll help me fight.”_ He had said when Keith saw the shortened sleeves.

 

Keith raised his eyes. Shiro looked hopeful, smiling with a distant look in his eye. Maybe he hadn't been fair when he didn't let Shiro out of his sight.

 

Shiro’s past, before he'd been caught, was gone. They both knew Shiro was different. His memory was gone. Hell, he even lost an arm! Shiro had a job, a boyfriend, a home. Keith wished he could have taken his place, anything to make Shiro happy again.

 

The window cast moonlight into the kitchen. It was a temporary apartment, around Galra territory. It had peeling, bare grey walls. The floor creaked, pipes stopped randomly. _It's cheap_.

 

The temporary makeshift had been for two months. Turned out he was right to look here. He found Shiro a few streets away.

 

_Keith stumbled through the dark. Street lights glared down at him. The boy shifted, on edge; he was unsure why he was drawn here. Maybe he was drunk? The days were long past blurring into one another._

 

_While he had been thinking, Keith left his apartment. The wind was biting; winter was close. The trees had a distant grey color as they got ready for the cold._

 

_He slipped through the dark, running his hand through his tangled hair. Blood was matted in his hair from a long cut he received from a fight with a few Galrans. It stretched across the side of his face. Keith grinned at the thought that it made him look rugged._

 

 _Then, he saw him; the smile disappeared from his face. Here it was, the damned source of his problems. Keith sucked in a deep breath, willing his eyes to shut._ It's not him… It's not him…

 

 _Keith found himself running frantically, desperately, needing to see if his friend was alive. He stopped, almost tripping over Shiro. The other was lying prone on the ground._ No…

 

_The panicked boy bent down, touching Shiro’s face. A long white scar ran across his nose.  He had a tuft of white hair in his messy black fuzz. His clothes were grey and tattered._

 

 _Under the orange light from the street lamp, Shiro looked sick, starved,_ dead _._

 

 _Keith shuddered, checking his pulse. He had known Shiro since they were children. He had seen him through everything, depression, heartbreak, broken bones and general pain._ Nothing _was like this._

 

_Shiro looked broken. His clothes were tight and loose in all the wrong places. His face was thin, gaunt. The grey pavement under him showed how pale Shiro was. It scared Keith. He had been searching for Shiro, but to find him like this..._

 

Keith hadn't known where he was at the time. Acting instinctively, he just slung Shiro’s arm around his shoulder. His beat up friend had been shockingly lightweight. Too lightweight.

 

He was glad his friend had gotten his color back now. He even put on eyeliner again. Shiro _seemed_ to be getting better, which Keith was endlessly thankful for. But his friend’s memories were a different story. He had only begun to remember some things. One of those being...

 

“I'm thinking about finding Matt again.” Shiro blurted out. _That_ snapped him out of his thoughts.

 

“... What?” Keith glanced over in worry. “Shiro, are you sure that's a good idea?”

 

“Yes.” Shiro nodded, his jaw set firmly. He looked like he was waiting for the younger to argue with him.

 

“...Do you even know where to start?” Keith asked softly. He didn't want to see Shiro in pain; even if his friend and brother had to search for a ghost to feel okay.

 

Shiro sighed and looked away. “I… I think I recognized someone back at that burning shop.” He trailed off.

 

Keith stared at him incredulously. “Are you sure? Who was it?”

 

“Not completely sure yet.” He frowned and rubbed the scar along his nose. “They knew me, I'm sure of it. Keith, they could lead me back to Matt.” Shiro looked dejected, giving Keith a sad look that reminded him of a dog.

 

Keith sighed. “Look,” He said softly, “I'm not saying it's a smart idea, because it's _not_. But we don't know if he's even here.”

 

“I have to try,” Shiro whispered, a hopeless tone in his voice. “Keith, I feel lost. And I'm trying. I'm trying so hard.” He blinked, far away in his mind. “I hate this.”

 

And just like that, Keith couldn't protest anymore. Shiro’s words wrenched at his heart. He turned and hugged the bigger boy.

 

“We’ll find him.” He buried his face in Shiro’s chest, the way a child would to their father. “I'll do whatever it takes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may or may not have noticed that both of the authors of this fic enjoy a healthy bit of angst. While we're not exactly the greatest, we do appreciate any comments and kudos you have for us. Tag things relating to this AU as #FiveLionsAU and we'll find it and be forever indebted to you! Just kidding. Also Syd has been getting on my case to J U S T POST THE CHAPTER so here it is, ladies, gentlemen, and any other orientation. Enjoy! Hope you're all doing well.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: DRUG ABUSE, SUICIDE ATTEMPT. READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION.

Allura set down her coffee. The desk was cluttered with papers from every single department in the police station. She hummed a tune under her breath.

 

The _Captain Altea_ nameplate atop her desk reflected the harsh lamp light. In some ways, she was proud of it; in others, she hated it. She was saddled with responsibility and idiot donut cops who didn't know their left from their right. She also had arguably the most federal power in the city.

 

Allura sighed, shoving the pile of papers into a drawer. She didn't need to deal with that right now. There were more important uses of her time.

 

She spun in her chair towards the massive board behind her. It took up most of her wall. It was suspiciously covered by a map, a stupid trick she picked from watching too many crime TV shows. She drew it up, staring at the faces.

 

Faces of criminals and missing people. Galra suspects and keen _heroes_. So many, all neatly pinned up in Allura’s usual style. She had bought so many tacks for this project, she was best friends with the office supply store employees.

 

He wasn't in the middle, the odd boy always dressed in red. Rather, his picture had strings attached to others. Red yarn trailed across the board; Allura had color-coded it. She was quite proud of the giant board, though some would say she seemed like a crazy conspiracy theorist. At this point, she wasn't sure if she could argue otherwise.

 

She frowned, pushing off the wall with her feet towards the middle of the room. The chair caught an edge of the carpet, sending her spilling onto the floor.

 

“...That rather hurt.” Allura muttered, shaking her head before she stood up. She picked up her chair, running her hand over the leather cushion absentmindedly.

 

Allura looked back up at the board, frowning. She had to do something. She _was_ police chief after all. It wouldn't do for her to sit around connecting tacks.

 

Instead, she pushed her chair back to her desk and pulled down the map again, hiding her handiwork.  The tired girl opened her drawer and began to sort through a large stack of papers. Most were crime reports; a few, letters from angry or sad families that were slipped in by _mistake_.

 

Allura tried not to sigh as she reread scratchy handwriting, screaming about how the police were getting worse than the Galra. Part of her wanted to agree. Why had she done so badly with keeping her own precinct intact? Well, that wasn't exactly her fault; she had come into the position with the police force in shambles. Allura Altea was certainly doing her best.

 

She ran her hand through her white hair in frustration. She checked her phone- still an hour til break. Which meant an hour more of reading letters, trying not to sob for the families. An hour more of telling uncaring officers what to do. An hour more of sending out poorly equipped forces to keep a rampant gang in check.

 

Allura huffed and decided she hadn't seen her uncle lately. Today would be good; Coran always said he never got customers on Thursdays.

 

Allura glared at the pile of papers before checking her watch again. About half an hour before break. She busied herself with straightening the desk. A clean environment always yielded better results; at least in the hard working girl’s opinion. The police chief stood up and straightened one last pile before she grabbed her jacket.

 

Allura strode out of her office, her heels clicking on the floor. A few officers nodded in her acknowledgement.  She turned towards the door. Sunlight reflected off the white tiled floors, catching her white hair and shirt. She looked like she was glowing as Allura walked outside and got in her car.

 

The distance between her uncle's shop and the police station was short. The city passed in a grey haze as thoughts blurred in and out of Allura’s mind.

 

She parked in a lot across from the shop. Allura stepped out, the wind rushing past her face. It was freezing. Autumn's air drove straight to the bone. She drew her coat tighter around her and hurried across the street, pushing the door open.

 

Altea Auto was a mess of greys and browns. The sign hung over a garage door, glinting in the sun. The side were hand painted, a _fun_ idea in the summer from Coran. His newest employees had started work around then. Pidge and Hunk, two enthusiastic kids.

 

When Allura got inside, a wave of heat hit her. Coran’s shop was normally hot, even when it was frozen outside. She stood in the door, unsure of herself.

 

Her thoughts trailed back to the papers she had left on her desk. Her officers reports were raided with Galra sightings, evidence, and cases. Plus, a new guy in a _hoodie_. He was beating up Galra left and right.

 

Except he was a ghost trail. All they had on him was worthless. _Red sweatshirt, black pants, black boots, black hair._ Maybe she should hang up signs with that information that say, “ _Please help us. Red Ghost, please help us.”_ He was always there before the police.

 

_Maybe I have a leak._

 

Allura was drawn out of her thoughts as Pidge appeared at the door. Their caramel hair was matted with grease, delicate hands almost black.

 

“Hey Allura.” Pidge grinned.

 

Allura smiled down at them. “Hello, Pidge. Have you seen Coran today?”

 

“Yep.” Pidge nodded, brushing their bangs back. “He’s in the back with Hunk.”

 

Pidge always seemed like an odd person to Allura. Not in a bad way, though. They wore long sleeves, pushed up to her elbows, despite the heat. In the summer, when they were hired, Pidge had been perpetually out of it. Now, they had a mischievous glint in their eyes. Allura supposed that Coran wasn't the only one who was helped in some way by their hire.

 

She followed them into the main room. Coran was sitting at a table, arm half buried in a machine. He waved casually with his free hand. Hunk was sitting with him, checking the blueprints with furrowed brow.

 

She heard his worried voice from where she stood. “Coran, don't you think you need a flashlight? At least check the instructions! Gah, no, not _there_ , not there!”

 

Allura stifled a giggle. She walked over and looked down at the blueprints Hunk had splayed out. The design was intricate, which also meant she didn't understand much of it. She prided herself on her intelligence, but when it came to the ordered chaos of Altea Auto, it was all Greek to her.

 

“Hey Allura, how's your job?” Hunk looked up at her, smiling. He had tied his bangs back with a yellow ribbon.

 

“Good, thanks. What's this?”

 

Allura would be lying if she said she understood what Hunk was now explaining so happily. She guessed it was some sort of car motor, from the few words she did understand.

 

Coran’s laugh echoed in the room. “Ah, Allura, come help me! You've got small hands!” He smiled cheerfully. She didn't know how his mustache could possibly get grease in it, but as usual, it had.

 

Allura laughed nervously, twirling a lock of hair in discomfort. “Pidge’s hands are smaller.”

 

Coran nodded thoughtfully and called Pidge, who shot Allura a glare before sticking their hands in the engine.  

 

Hunk waved over Allura. She stepped closer, eyes still rested on Coran.

 

“Any more news on the Galra?” Hunk asked in a lowered voice. He and his friends had recently been caught in a Galra attack. Fortunately, Lance was almost fully recovered.

 

“Afraid not. Galra have been suspiciously quiet since that attack. Maybe Zarkon’s upset his plan didn't work.”

 

The explosion had been downtown, in a well populated area. The new publicity on the street only doubled it. Allura had visited to the crime scene after she heard about her friends. Lance had to go to the hospital from smoke inhalation.

 

Hunk frowned thoughtfully. “Any news on the _other thing_?” He asked nervously.

 

Of course, the red stranger had been there. He had saved the other civilians. Allura supposed that as long as he was helping, he was fine to work as he pleased.

 

More surprising news was that there was someone new! A tall, well-built man that wore a dark purple sweatshirt. It was slightly absurd that the city’s heroes _insisted_ on wearing sweatshirts.

 

Allura glanced at Pidge. From what she'd heard about the attack, the purple stranger had shaken them. There was something strange about them today. Allura couldn't put her finger on it. If Pidge had a connection to the purple man, wouldn't they come forward?

 

“Allura!” Coran shouted with delight. “Come see what we've made!” She stopped thinking about it.

 

\----------

 

Pidge slid down the door in exhaustion, closing their eyes. The house was silent, light pouring through the kitchen window. The living room was lit with orange from the streetlights.

 

Their phone chimed, silence broken. They grunted. Pidge picked it up and read Lance’s text. The words passed through their mind like fog.

 

The wood creaked as Pidge pulled themself up. They trudged up the stairs, holding onto their bag’s strap. They were weary after a long day. Pushing open the door, they looked around their room fondly.

 

The pale walls of their bedroom were covered in papers and posters; Aliens, NASA, and even a few bands.  Allura had given them an photo of her old band, Voltron. It was greyscale, except for the colorful rainbow of outfits. Pidge admired Allura immensely; it was almost hero worship. _I used to think of Matt like that,_  they realized with sadness.

 

Pidge turned off the lights and dropped onto their bed, looking up at the ceiling. A galaxy had been painted there with glow-in-the-dark paint. They rolled over and pulled their laptop out of their bag. The screen flicked on, their glasses reflected the green light. The steady sound of their typing filled Pidge’s mind as they concentrated the screen. The harsh light began to fade as they were drawn into sleep.

 

\-------------

 

Pidge woke with a start. Another harsh _crash_ hit their ears. They shoved aside their laptop and sprinted to the door. As they threw it open, they rammed into the wall as they raced down the stairs.

 

Another crash sounded through the house. Pidge skidded into the living room just as their brother knocked down another glass vase. His posture, everything about him was angry.

 

“ _MATT_!” Pidge shrieked, grabbing his arm. They gagged at the stench of alcohol their brother wore. _Honestly_.

 

Matt whipped around angrily. His light red hair stuck to his forehead, eyes narrowed at them. The rage faded from his eyes as he recognized his sibling. He slurred some unintelligible words, but let Pidge drag him into the kitchen.

 

The younger stalked to and fro, looking down at Matt. He was slumped in a chair, dozing off already. No doubt he was tired from his destructive rampage. Anger rose through Pidge. _It isn’t fair that I have to deal with him. None of this, none of this is fair._

 

 _If it wasn’t for Dad dying, and then Shiro going missing… I hate this._  The scruffy teen shook their head guiltily. Sure, their situation may not be fair, but it was just as absurd to blame their father, who had been killed by a couple members of the Galra.

 

Pidge still remembered when they had gone to see the Galra members that had shot down their father. Still remembered walking into the room, sitting down in a chair without really feeling anything. Only seeing the bars in front of them. And beyond the bars, two evil men. Pidge still wakes up shivering sometimes, those evil eyes burned into their mind. Hearing cruel laughter. Not being able to stop the pain and heartache.

 

Matt had been there for Pidge back then. He had been their rock, their shoulder to cry on. He’d come into their room when they woke terrified and stay with them. Pidge could tell he didn’t get much sleep those nights, but he always insisted on staying.

 

They had been doing their best until Matt’s boyfriend disappeared. Shiro and Matt were closer than close, the best of friends and the healthiest relationship Pidge knew. The two were together for almost four years. They were happy, and everyone around them was happy to see it.

 

Then Shiro went missing. It came as a shock; Shiro had been a police officer, but the Galra didn’t kidnap people. After a month, it became clear that Shiro wasn’t coming back.

 

Pidge remembered getting a call at school from the hospital.

 

“Would this be Katie Holt?” _God_ , Pidge hated their birthname.

 

“Speaking.”

 

“Your brother’s in the hospital.”

 

Pidge had left class immediately and biked to the hospital, horrified. Matt had stabbed himself. They remembered being numb. Numb, and sick.

 

No one would let them see him.

 

Matt was kept in the hospital for a long time. Pidge remembers that he hadn’t wanted to live. They had put him on painkillers. From there, it was a spiral down. Matt began to do drugs, wanting to forget. Wanting to stop feeling.

 

Pidge never stopped blaming Shiro for their brother’s ruined life. They knew it was unfair, but hell, their life at this point was nothing but the same. And all these thoughts had been thrown up to the surface by the events of the last week. Because Shiro was alive.

 

Pidge knew that was him. It _had_ to be. Sure, the building was on fire, and Pidge was upset. But Shiro didn't look just ordinary, someone you could mix up at first glance.

 

Pidge also knew if they told anyone, everyone would think they were insane. _No one comes back from the Galra._  Everyone had suspected foul play when Shiro disappeared; Policemen aren’t exactly the type to get lost. But with these new developments....

 

Pidge rubbed their eyes, sighing. The clock read 9:46, which meant they would have to call in sick to school soon to take care of Matt. They tried to push down their disappointment. This wasn’t the first time something like this happened. And from the looks of it, it wouldn’t be the last.

 

Pidge looked back at Matt. They swallowed back their anger and started forming plans. Shiro. He had to help. If Pidge found him, maybe he’d help Matt out of this. Shiro was the _reason_ Matt turned to drugs. And they would kill him if he didn’t.

 

They turned back to the window, hands clenching the counter. The morning light streamed through the lace curtains, the room washed in gold and grey.

  
_Shiro_ , Pidge thought, closing their eyes. _I_ have _to find Shiro._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit sad. Sorry for that; we promise the next chapter will be a bit better/lighter. We just happen to love angst. Adieu til next week!

**Author's Note:**

> This was written by two very gay people sitting in a dark basement! We hope you enjoy this. Any constructive criticism is appreciated, as are nice comments. If you make us any fanart, spinoff fics or otherwise (for which we'll be forever grateful), then tag it #FiveLionsAU on tumblr! That way we can find it more easily. Have a good day, all! Expect weekly updates!


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